Good People
by shouldsleep
Summary: Dr. Reid is injured in an accident. The team rallies around him as he struggles to regain his health and sense of purpose. Written from the perspective of an outsider.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the show Criminal Minds or any of characters. I wrote this story just for fun and am not making any money from it.**

The swath of bandages covering his eyes obscures much of his face, and makes his hair stick up like a haystack. He's a lot younger than I thought he would be, tucked snugly into bed and flanked by a somber man in an expensive looking suit and a red haired woman in the most flamboyant outfit I've ever seen off Broadway. They're too young to be his parents, but I can tell by the way they look at him that they are family.

The man turns sharply to look at me when I knock on the open door, and I find myself being examined by a dark, appraising set of eyes. I try my best to look responsible- capable, the kind of person you look to when things go wrong. _"I wish such and such was here, he always knows what to do"_. I smooth the pockets of my scrub shirt and wish my running shoes were less scuffed. I smile slightly, but not too wide, I try not to blink but suddenly my eyes are really dry and I wish I'd worn my contacts.

Thankfully the woman interrupts the awkward stare down by waving cheerily; she gently nudges the man in the bed, and says, "Reid, the nurse is here."

xxx

The next day he won't even look at me. I know he can't see, but he doesn't even glance in my direction when I enter the apartment and say, "Good morning." I try to explain what I'm doing as I work, carefully changing the bandages and handing him a washcloth. He brushes his teeth vigorously and spits in the vague direction of the sink. I start to dab shaving cream on his chin, but he bats my hands away and reaches out for the can. Soon his face is covered in white foam and he reaches out his hand again. I hand him the razor hesitantly and watch him bring the blade to his cheek and make a few careful strokes.

The doctor's first word of the day is a loud curse, as he drops the razor and brings a hand to his face to inspect the damage. I pick up the razor and quickly finish the job, blotting the cut with toilet paper until it clots. The second I finish he stands up and leaves the room, walking with slow, careful steps as he feels his way down the hall. He stumbles as he reaches the bedroom, cursing again as he stubs his toe, and slams the door.

He comes out a few minutes later, fully dressed and moves gingerly towards the couch, sitting down he rubs his skin against the worn arm of the sofa, moving his fingers over the corduroy like Braille. His green pants clash horribly with the blue oxford he has selected, but I know better than to say anything. He's missed a button so the tails of his shirt are uneven and when he sits down I can see that his socks don't match.

He steadfastly ignores my attempts at conversation, so I go into the kitchen to start breakfast. There is a long list taped to one of the cupboard doors of all the things he cannot eat, a small post-it note on the refrigerator lists foods considered acceptable by the hospital's dietician.

I'm adding a banana to the shake in the blender when a muscular black man enters the kitchen, I don't hear him over the noise of the appliance and nearly jump out of my skin when he claps me on the back. He just laughs and tells me that his name is Morgan and he is a friend of Dr. Reid's from work.

"Is he giving you a hard time?" Morgan asks quietly, nodding toward the living room.

I shrug, pouring the shake into a tall glass and adding a straw; I don't want to admit defeat already- it's too soon.

"He's angry. He didn't want a nurse, but Hotch insisted. Someone has to make sure he's eating, and taking his pills at the right time. Hotch is our supervisor, you met him yesterday," he added, seeing the question in my eyes.

"Not all insurance covers home care, maybe Dr. Reid is concerned about the expense of hiring someone?"

"The bureau's paying for it, so it's not the cost… Reid's just too proud to admit he needs help."

Reid.

Garcia.

Morgan.

Hotchner.

None of these people seem to have first names, and they know what you are thinking just by looking at you. I feel like an intruder, or maybe a visitor from another planet.

"How did he…?"

"Get hurt?" Morgan finished.

"Yeah. The agency's notes aren't always accurate. They said he sustained his injuries 'in the line of duty', but they also said he's a doctor…"

"He works with me at the BAU, it's a branch of the FBI," Morgan explains, "And he has three PhDs."

The man laughs at the awed look on my face, already nodding in response to my next question.

"What is he, some kind of genius?"

"We were working a case in Texas- a string of robbery homicides just outside Dallas. The unsub- the _bad guy_," he amended, seeing my puzzled look, "agreed to release one of the hostages, a little boy. Reid entered the building to collect the boy just as the bomb exploded… It was a trap; he never planned on letting anyone go. He blew everything up, killing everyone inside but Reid." He paused for a minute, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he shuddered at the memory.

"We thought we were going to lose him- pieces of shrapnel lodged in his abdomen, he almost bled out at the scene. We didn't even know about his eyes until he woke up in the ICU four days later. There was bleeding in his brain… they didn't know if he would ever be the same, even if he lived."

xxx

A package arrives the next morning. I sign for it at the door and then carry the heavy box down the hall to Dr. Reid's room. There are several different postmarks and the stamps have brightly colored birds that I'm pretty sure are not from Virginia. There's no return address, but whoever sent it must think Dr. Reid is pretty awesome- it would have cost a fortune to ship.

A blonde woman has just come out from the bedroom, and I almost knock her over, staring at the stupid birds. I apologize profusely, but she just smiles and shrugs off the would-be collision.

"J.J," she says, extending her hand and then laughing when I try to hold the box in one arm and then realize I have to put it down because the thing is seriously heavy.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," I say, slightly embarrassed, because a) she's a beautiful woman and b) she's leaving a man's _bedroom_ at 7:30 in the _morning_ wearing a _nightgown._ And chicks dig doctors, right?

"What, no. Oh, no! We work together. We both work for the BAU, and we're friends. Work friends," she clarifies, sounding rather flustered. "I stayed over last night, Morgan and Hotch have been taking turns and I thought they could use a break. And I wanted to see Spence. I miss him."

Now I remembered the small futon in the corner of the doctor's room. I smiled to myself, wondering what he would do if _I _called him 'Spence'.

"Did you manage to get any sleep?" I ask.

"A little. Spence woke up around midnight with pain, I gave him some of his medication and he was able to sleep for a few hours…"

"And then…?"

"He had a bad dream. I think it was about his accident- the explosion. He woke up crying, and got himself so worked up that he got sick in his bed."

I nod and try to look understanding. Friends and family burn out quickly as caregivers, they're too emotionally involved. I use my professional detachment as defense- I wouldn't have lasted this long otherwise.

"He told me that he can't be blind because he's afraid of the dark." J.J.'s eyes fill with tears, and I can tell that she is one of those women who looks pretty even when she cries.

"It takes time to adjust, to accept things… It won't happen overnight- for any of you," I add in an attempt to acknowledge that Dr. Reid isn't the only one suffering or in pain.

Xxx

We settle into a morning routine of sorts, I lay out his clothes the night before and then arrive at seven thirty to help him into the shower, he brushes his teeth and I change his bandages. He has forgone shaving since the first day, and a slight beard has started to appear, belying the child-like appearance I had come to expect. Then I make his breakfast and give him his medications. Some days he is too dizzy for the shower, or his stomach is too upset to eat.

This routine is conducted without speaking, only the sounds of running water and appliances occasionally breaking the silence. It is a dance of tactility, and I am not in the lead as the doctor explores a world that is mystifying and fraught with danger.

He pushes away his cup or bowl when he has had enough, this is my cue to clear the dishes and help him to the entrance of the study. The door closes and a key turns in the lock- I have been dismissed.

One day I bring a friend.

My sister is on sabbatical- six months in Sweden doing god knows what. She is a few years younger than me but more established- a pharmaceutical rep with a Prius and a nice condo. I take care of her place while she's gone, travelling forty five minutes on the smelly subway every evening, getting her mail, feeding her cat and watering the wimpy fichus that obstructs the amazing view from her bay window.

Isis is finicky- she won't eat dry kibble, and will only drink from the running faucet in the bathroom. She is skinny as a rail and prissy as a prima donna. My apartment building doesn't allow any pets, and my landlord watches the entrance like a guard at a border crossing. An extra scoop of dry food would cut the number of visits in half, but my sister's cat is like her child and I would feel terrible if she became emaciated while in my care.

Call it brotherly devotion, but all these extra trips after working a twelve hour day are wearing me out. The extended days catch up with me, and it must show in my face.

Prentiss comes over with ice cream one evening. I remember feeling a slight thrill when I opened the door the first time and saw her standing in the vestibule, dark hair slightly wet from the rain, managing to look ravishing in a dripping trench coat. The belt is too big for her and the tail sticks out conspicuously beyond the loops, somehow this makes her seem more human. I wonder if it is just a coincidence or if it is a requirement for _all_ FBI agents to be ridiculously good looking.

"It's nothing, really. I'm fine," I say when she asks.

She quirks a perfectly arched brow in disbelief of my answer, I should have known she would see right through me.

"Spill it, or I'm withholding the maple walnut in protest," she counters, the ice cream scoop hovering over the container.

"He can't have walnuts, the fiber…"

"Yeah, yeah… Quit stalling- you know he'll pick them out if he eats any. What's wrong?"

Suddenly it all comes out, and I'm babbling about my sister, and Isis and even the stupid fichus. These people are scary good at their jobs- I'm surprised hostage negotiations ever go on for more than a few minutes.

"Bring her with you," Prentiss says, like it's the most logical thing in the world; _of course _penguins can fly_. _

"My sister?" I ask dumbly. I'm distracted, trying not to stare as she licks the spoon, her eyes closing in ecstasy.

"The cat, silly. The apartment's big enough, and Mrs. Lombardi won't mind, she loves Reid."

"I doubt the agency would allow it."

"So don't tell them. Call her a 'therapeutic companion', pet owners typically live longer than non pet owners and recover more quickly from illnesses."

_I _raise my eyebrows this time, and note that how cute she is when she blushes.

"I know I sound like Reid, but it's true! Bring the cat to stay here; he's never had a pet before since we travel so much. It would be a good experience for him."

I'm a bit nervous the morning I bring Isis. Dr. Reid has broken his vow of silence and will now exchange pleasantries with me, but our conversations are short and to the point, and the responses are mostly monosyllabic.

I don't want to make him angry and tell Agent Hotchner to fire me. I enjoy having a steady job, rather than being on call 24/7 and having to scurry to locate some obscure address at the crack of dawn. A part of me has come to like the eccentric doctor, as well, although I can't be sure the feeling is mutual.

I don't know how to broach the subject of the cat, so I leave Isis in her carrier by the door and go into the bathroom to start Dr. Reid's shower. When we're all ready I go back to let her out, and panic a little when I see the cage is empty. Then I hear Garcia's voice drifting in from the kitchen, and I know that Isis did not pull a Houdini or grow a thumb.

"Aren't you bee-you-tee-full? What a pretty kitty!"

If cats could grin, Isis would be a jack o lantern. She weaved through Garcia's legs, rubbing against her argyle tights and arching her back in pleasure at the woman's affection. I felt slightly annoyed, _here I've been pulling sixteen hour days to visit this ungrateful fleabag, without so much as an acknowledgement and this woman is immediately her best friend?_ Between her and Dr. Reid I was beginning to feel seriously ignored.

"I've got treats, I'm not the cat whisperer," Garcia says with a laugh, seeing the look on my face, "That's the secret to positive interactions with house pets."

I hold my breath when Garcia carries the cat into the living room where my client is poking disinterestedly at a bowl of oatmeal. I shudder to imagine what my boss at the agency would say when she plops Isis down on the coffee table and gently guides his hand to stroke the silky fur. Isis is still in a good mood from the treats, or maybe she just likes the doctor better than me, soon she has curled herself into a snug ball and has situated herself directly in Dr. Reid's lap. I hear him chuckle, looking around for Garcia as Isis purrs like a freight train.

"Who's this?" he asks, petting the cat absently.

I jump in to explain the situation with my sister's place and my apartment's pet policy, and somehow the fichus is brought up again. He nods once, seeming to accept this as perfectly logical and picks up his oatmeal, slowly finishing the bowl around the warm mound of cat.

It's a good thing he can't see my smile.

xxx

"I see the Reid effect does not extend to felines."

I don't recognize this man, but Hotch stands next to him with the closest thing to a smile I have seen yet, and Dr. Reid brightens at the sound of his voice.

"Rossi! It's been a while."

"Too long, I wanted to give you some time to settle in before I came over and ate all your food," the older man joked.

"Not these days, all I can eat is baby food," he says bitterly.

There is an awkward silence interrupted by Isis' crazy Siamese meow as she demands to be petted by the new arrivals.

"Seal point?" Agent Hotchner asks, looking to me. I shrug and admit I have no idea, I can change a catheter bag like nobody's business but specific varieties of cat breeds are unknown to me. Not surprisingly, the doctor is more informed.

"What are her markings like?" Dr. Reid asks me; with the closest thing to interest I have yet to hear in his inflection. I describe the color and shapes of what I had thought of as splotches.

"Then she's a lilac-point. A 'wedgehead Siamese' based on the shape of her skull and her lean body type."

I snicker at the name, but the doctor doesn't notice, already having launched into the history of oriental cat breeds which somehow segways into a ten minute monologue about Thailand and conjoined twins, and a bunch of other stuff I don't really understand.

The two agents stay for lunch, and Dr. Reid is more talkative than I have ever seen him- giving Agents Hotchner and Rossi his conclusions on a case they're working on. They discuss the screen reader program that Garcia installed on his laptop and weighed the pros and cons of adding voice recognition software. Now I know what he's been doing in the study for all those hours.

Before they leave, Agent Hotchner motions for me to step outside. I cross my fingers and hope that I am not about to be reprimanded for bringing the cat. He had seemed pleased to watch his friend with Isis, or so I had thought, but I am quickly learning that I have far to go in the realm of interpreting behavior.

"Your three month probation period is over, the team is pleased with the effect your presence has had on our agent."

I keep waiting for the 'but', not allowing myself to believe what I think I am hearing.

"More importantly, Reid likes and trusts you."

I must look skeptical, because he continues.

"I didn't want to burden you with this when you were first hired, but you were the fifth care giver we interviewed. Reid didn't like the first three and the fourth called him 'Spence', immediately disqualifying himself as a candidate. The fifth wasn't authorized to dispense some of his medications. Morgan thought you'd last a week at the most, Garcia gave you a month."

_But….?_

"But they were wrong, somehow this is working. He's talking, and eating, and interested in work again," Agent Hotchner seems a little choked up but continues.

"We'd like to hire you on privately, which would mean leaving the agency. You'd be classified as Dr. Reid's assistant, and be employed by the bureau. We can match the benefits you currently receive and your salary will increase significantly."

"I- I don't know what to say," I stutter, marveling at this turn of events.

"But," Agent Hotchner says, and my hope suddenly dampens again seeing the grave expression on his face.

"Reid has expressed interest in returning to work for the BAU as a consultant. His doctor is almost ready to clear him to work, as long as he doesn't overextend himself. The job necessitates a lot of travel. Odd hours, long days, exposure to violent imagery… it can be difficult to maintain relationships and any semblance of normalcy in one's personal life. This job comes at a price."

I pretend to think it over for a moment, but my mind is already made up.

"When do I start, Agent Hotchner?"

"He's thinking about coming back after the New Year, starting with half days in the office. He can decide which cases he needs to join us for and which he can assist in via computer."

I nod, feeling a little rush of excitement at the thought of working for the _FBI_. My sister might be the more established one, but this will certainly level the playing field. I make a mental note to buy a fichus when I get home.

"Oh, and one more thing," he says, as I turn to walk back inside. "Call me Hotch."

xxx

It's not soon after Isis comes to stay that Dr. Reid mentions the package. It's been sitting unopened by the door to his bedroom since its arrival, nearly tripping him every time he goes to the bathroom.

I have been burning with curiosity from the moment I signed for it, and can't really imagine being sent something so large and not wanting to know what's inside. But then, I was the kind of kid who shook every one of his Christmas presents, counting down the days until I could rip them open and peeking through the wrapping on more than one occasion.

I eagerly go and get it, setting it on the kitchen table where he sits with his laptop. His left foot is jiggling so the shoelaces wiggle like earthworms, which he knows drives Isis crazy.

He feels for the plastic covering the box's seams and carefully peels off the packing tape. I watch excitedly as he tears through the brown paper covering the parcel within.

I stare in amazement as Dr. Reid's fingers ghost over the pawns, picking up the queen and holding it gently in his hand. The checkered board is large and the pieces ornately carved, I have never seen anything like it before, which is fitting because I have never met anyone like Dr. Reid before either.

He rests his palms against the cool stone board; it appears to be made from a slab of black granite although all of the pieces are white. Half of the pieces have small raised bumps on each one although I know he won't need them. Something tells me that the doctor won't lose track of which pieces are his, but rather that he'll remember each and every move and simultaneously be thinking several moves ahead. If the accident has impaired his ability to reason or remember, I can't imagine how it could have been before.

"Do you want to play, Dr. Reid?" I ask, knowing I will lose miserably and not caring in the least.

The doctor smiles and starts to arrange the pieces.

"Just 'Reid'."

xxx

A few months before his return to work, Reid tells me that he wants to go out.

I'm a bit surprised- having pretty much resigned myself to the fact that my client is a bit of a hermit who will soon resume being a bit of a workaholic. Other care givers get to go to Starbucks and to the cinema, but I had simply accepted that that wasn't in the cards for me.

Reid is full of surprises.

We walk down the street with his white cane tapping cautiously, as one hand tightly grips my arm. We moved down the street at a painstaking crawl. We make it several blocks before he indicates that he needs to rest. I steer us into a coffee shop, a small independent one; somehow I don't think the doctor will appreciate a certain gigantic coffee slash book shop conglomeration located across the street.

We sit on a faded yellow couch next to the window, the mustard tweed almost matching the doctor's atrocious corduroys. He asks for a coffee with four sugars and I go up to relay the order, biting back the urge to remind him about the caffeine and suggest steamed soy milk.

We sit in silence for a while, but it is a comfortable silence. The more I get to know the doctor, the more I realize that I _like_ him. His intelligence and the vast scope of his knowledge is truly astonishing, but it's more than that. It's the socially awkward tendencies, the purposely mismatched socks and the genuine concern he has for others. It's the way he apologized for his earlier surliness rather than just pretending it never happened. It's all the "Reidisms" that make him Reid. Reid, and well the whole team really, are what my mom calls "good people", complete with quotation marks and everything.

The walk back is even slower and he leans more heavily against me; I can tell that he will probably sleep through the rest of the afternoon. I make a mental note that we need to work on his stamina or he will be going back to the bureau in a wheelchair.

He stops suddenly under a giant oak tree. The leaves are changing and sunlight streams through the branches onto his cheeks. He looks upward with sightless eyes. The bandages came off a few weeks ago and he has taken to wearing an antique looking pair of frames with the lenses switched out for tinted glass.

He looks in my direction and flashes a smile that I interpret as 'I'm happy to be alive'. I think I'm becoming better at reading people.

xxx

His phone rings during breakfast- it's the theme song from Star Trek: Enterprise and I suppress a crack about the geekiness.

_Only Garcia. _

The cell is under a pile of papers in the study, and I race in to grab it. I try to play it cool and not let on that I am unbelievably excited as I hand the phone to Reid.

"Case in Boise, Idaho. Wheels up in forty five," says the robotic voice, unable to muster any virtual enthusiasm for this monumental event.

He stands up, meal replacement drink forgotten, and heads for the exit pausing only to grab his jacket from a molecule- shaped hook on the wall. I pick up the two packed go bags sitting patiently by the door; he's a lot stronger than he was, but he's still not supposed to lift anything heavier than Isis. I knock on Mrs. Lombardi's door and let her know that we are going out of town.

She is a widow with no children of her own, and she dotes on Reid. As soon as she heard that he was returning to work she offered to feed Isis when we are away. She's a bit hard of hearing and thinks the cat is called 'Icy', which she thinks is a strange name for a cat that isn't white.

She is one of the few people that call the doctor by his first name, and for a second I see him as she does.

Just a nice kid who's had a tough break; not an agent or a genius, or even a blind guy, he's just Spencer. I start the engine and Reid leans forward to turn on the radio and fumble with the dial. It's a college station that plays weird folk music and songs in languages no one speaks anymore.

Mrs. Lombardi waves furiously from the window as we drive away, holding Isis and making her little paw wave too. I tell Reid what she's doing and he laughs and waves back just as vigorously.

End

**A/N: Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought! This was unbetaed, so please let me know if you see any mistakes or glaring inaccuracies. **

**I am thinking about writing a sequel and would love some input- what would you like the focus of the story to be? What characters should be featured the most? Should it take place directly after this one, or be six months, or a few years down the line?**


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